


Overtime

by Constehlla



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen, Michael Afton is Mike Schmidt, Scott is the Phone Guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constehlla/pseuds/Constehlla
Summary: A guy with a closet full of skeletons, his service dog, and a haunted phone walk into a pizzeria. They somehow lose the punchline in the time they spend there.Mike is a little down on his luck when it comes to employment, but his new career choice as a nighttime security guard is sure to fix that! Now he gets to see the colorful characters from his childhood in a new light—the flickering light of the security doorways, that is—and meet some new friends along the way. Mike must deal with this deadly game of cat and mouse at night, his curious cast of coworkers during the day, and the ghosts of his past (and apparently his present?) that haunt him in-between. Maybe, with all the extra time he seems to be spending finding out Freddy’s secrets, he’ll get some overtime?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	1. Prologue

He wasn’t whole.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been awake, but he felt like something important was missing. He needed to stay awake for this. He drifted there in that thought for a while before he made a new conclusion.

He had lost something. Hadn’t he? It felt urgent. What was it?

It had been taken from him. The urgency came tenfold as he panicked at the situation. It was important, it was his, and _they had stolen it from him, and_ —!

He opened his eyes abruptly to find himself in the office. The lights were on, and he could hear voices down the hall, but somehow it didn’t feel right.

He sat there a moment to get his bearings. The activity outside the room didn’t seem to be the problem; though strange, it could wait. A quick scan of the office told him that it was horrible. He didn’t leave it like this. More paper than desk, in all honesty, and none of it was orderly. There were fast food wrappings and old soda cups. He just worked here, how in the world did it get like this? But it wasn’t what he was missing.

He was missing something, he was missing something in this picture and it wasn’t coming together. Everything was off kilter. Okay. He was in the office. The lights were on. He could hear people in the dining room. His mind came to the conclusion ‘dayshift’ before he could remember what it meant, and he found himself reaching for a camera display he just now recalled.

It didn’t move. He tried again. It didn’t move. Frustrated, he shifted himself to see the screen better. It was set to view the main stage. That was fine, he could keep his sight on the—

The animatronics.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Suddenly he remembered the pain and the insufferable tightness and the total dark except for the lights in their eyes and _please please I’m begging you please—_

Scott looked down at his hands. They looked stupidly pale. They also appeared to be remarkably see-through.

That would be a problem.

Eyes widening in realization, Scott looked back to the camera. The animatronic characters were getting to the end of one of their songs, their eyes bright and their arms moving and their torsos twisting in time. He remembered their stunning teamwork that night, even when he had just started the call, and those same felted hands dragging him to his tomb.

He knew very much what was missing, and exactly who had taken it from him.


	2. First Time For Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike goes in for his interview and pretends that everything is fine. He achieves this with a healthy dose of innocent lies. He needs this job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight mentions of blood and childhood trauma

Mike was no stranger to job interviews. Heck, at this point, he could consider it as a professional career. 

Too bad the interviews usually lasted longer than his employment.

But Mike was determined to change that. Besides, if he got fired from  here , then there really was no hope for him. 

The place wasn’t a  dump,  per say, but the atmosphere was a little foreboding. Maybe it was the lack of activity. It was pretty much closing time, after all. Or maybe he was just nervous. The first person he ran into was a shorter woman cleaning up the tables, who from the apron he could only assume to be a waitress. She hadn’t seen him come in, and apparently hadn’t heard him either. 

“Excuse me-,” the woman spun around at his voice, and he caught a glimpse of a nametag that simply read ‘Alyssa’. She looked down to Honey at his side, and her gaze stayed there. She didn’t say anything—she could clearly see the red vest—but looked pressed regardless. The dog didn’t seem too worried at her stare. “I’m here for a job interview? A friend told me the night shift was open.” He didn’t want to namedrop Katie, or at least not yet. She hadn’t mentioned her coworkers being rude, but this woman seemed a bit...distant.

If ‘Alyssa’ had been distant before, she was downright unpleasant after the mention of the interview. She gave him a bothered look and a frown before turning around to continue her work. “Down the hall, to the left.”

Despite her curtness, she had been correct. Although maybe he should be upset that he ended up in the right place, because now he had a new problem: the questions.

The start of the interview had been just fine. He had remembered, thankfully, to give his name as Mike _Schmidt_ —he didn’t need any unnecessary drama. His future boss introduced himself simply as Mr. Schaeffer, sat behind his mahogany desk, and promptly picked up the tallest stack of legal papers Mike had ever seen. They had exchanged some conversation—nothing Mike was too involved in, even though he knew to be careful—before the man got down to business and the questions started. They were phrased innocently enough, and were actually pretty simple, but for Mike they held a whole new meaning.

“Mhmm, mhmm. So, ya ever been in a Freddy’s before?”

_The balloons and streamers that were always overhead, the distant words of the animatronics on stage and the music to go with it, the colors and sights and sounds all blending together. He remembered bits and pieces—his father showing him how to fix a bent joint on the bunny model, his friends getting early access to the masks for the new characters, the happy days spent, and the one he wished he could forget._

Only one way to answer.

“No sir.”

“Alright. Ya ever worked a job like this? Y’know, late nights, active machinery?”

_The days, weeks, months afterward. Nights spent restless and terrified, running back and forth between doors in a never-ending nightmare. They were always out there. There was always something on the other side of the door. They always wanted him. The lights only made them shy away; nothing kept them back for long._

“No sir.”

“Okay then. First time for everything, kid!” Mike tried not to bristle at the name. He had been called much worse, but it still felt wrong. Mr. Schaeffer looked back down at his papers, either oblivious or uncaring. “Any criminal record, anything like that?”

_He still woke up sometimes seeing blood on his hands. On his hands, down his front, covering him. It had been years and he still couldn’t get away from it. Sorry hadn’t changed anything. It still didn’t. No amount of wishing could put his brother back together._

“No sir.” Only because his dad would have never lived with one kid dead and the other in juvie, or whatever would have become of him. That, and his dad couldn’t very well reach him from a jail cell. Always within arm’s length, always with a vice grip on his shoulder. He was glad those days were over. Funny he was coming back to the ‘family business’ after all these years. Too bad William would never know. Or he could only hope the man would never find out.

“Alright, and, uh...can I ask about the dog?”

Mike was pulled out his thoughts by the change in tone. He looked down to the floor and Honey smiled back at him, waiting obediently. Good girl.

“She’s my service dog.”

Mr. Schaeffer opened his mouth as if he were about to ask more, thought better of it, and shut it again. “Never had an animal on the night shift,” he seemed to muse to himself. “Wonder how that’ll work.”

Mike didn’t know if this was a jab or if the man was genuinely trying to ask him something. 

“Pardon?,” was all he said. He couldn’t be rude—he needed this.

“Oh, don’t worry; nothing to worry about! Let’s get to work on these papers here. Nothing huge, just a couple of legal documents, you know how it is!”

Despite seemingly holding the record for most jobs taken in the shortest amount of time, Mike had never seen anything of the sort. He did not, in fact, know how it was. 

He signed over his soul anyways. By tonight, he’d officially be the night guard for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

He wasn’t going to let anything hold him back this time. He wasn’t going to get kicked out of another job. He was going to be the best darn employee this place ever saw. It didn’t matter if dark memories threatened to surface in the back of his mind. It didn’t matter if he looked for his father around every corner of the restaurant. It didn’t matter if the cutesy animatronics on stage had enough teeth to bring up irrational fears. It didn’t matter if Alyssa had suddenly multiplied—twins, he realized—and was clearly gossiping about him with other workers. Their eyes followed him as he left. The looks weren’t pleasant.

But it didn’t matter. None of that mattered. He was going to put that all behind him, and focus on being the best employee he could be. He refused to be scared off so soon, and he would do whatever it took to stick with this job.

God save his soul.


	3. Unfinished Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott watches from above and reminisces a bit. It isn’t fun.

It took Scott a week to come to terms with being dead. During that time, he did little more than peer out from the office doorways and think about the animatronics—or  _him_ — coming back to finish the job, somehow. The fear was enough for him to stay put. The animatronics did not come near the office, seemingly aware that it was empty of night guards. Tangible ones, at least.

Scott’s newfound spare time meant that his thoughts wandered a little more than they should. He didn’t want to think about  that night  or the circumstances that got him there. He didn’t want to think about  _ him _ ; what  _ he  _ was hiding and the apparent lengths  _ he  _ would go to keep those things hidden. He didn’t want to think about spending a pitiful half-existence stuck in the same restaurant with the things that had killed him, forever. His resolve proved short, though, and he thought about all those things anyways. Many times. That was how he spent most of his time: huddled in the security office, stuck in his thoughts, refusing to go outside, confused and afraid.

He only moved from the office because a newbie night guard had come in one night. He hadn’t seen anybody take up the job since he had ‘woken up’, so to speak. This one looked so young that Scott wasn’t sure it was even legal to hire them for this kind of job. They had unpacked their bag a few minutes before midnight and started to pour over some textbooks. Oh, wow. They were doing homework. They really were young. Scott felt sick to a stomach he no longer had. They had no clue what was about to happen.

Twelve hit, and both Scott and the night guard jumped at the phone suddenly (and loudly) ringing. The guard didn’t answer it; they didn’t have to. After a couple more rings, the recording started on its own, and Scott listened to his own voice come out of the speaker.

_ “ Hello, hello?-“  _ Oh man, they had his training tapes. The tapes he hadn’t finished. The tapes he had gotten killed over. He wondered what they had done for the nights he didn’t...complete. 

_ “- Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I’m finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact-“ _

He really had been that ignorant, hadn’t he? He should’ve known he wouldn’t have been able to just quit. The irony of his “last week” wasn’t lost on him, though. If he were a little less terrified (both for his sake and the night guard’s) he might’ve even laughed a bit.

_ “-but I’m here to tell you there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll do fine!” _

Scott certainly hoped so. He didn’t want to see anybody suffer the same fate he had.

Scott had known the animatronics were dangerous at night, but he hadn’t known the extent of it until he’d been at the receiving end. He had felt comfortable around the machinery he’d worked with for most of his life. He had felt safe knowing how joints and wires and cross beams fit together. The nightly wandering had been something to work around, something to avoid until they could get a fix to whatever glitch was going on in the heads of those innocent, colorful characters.

Scott had ignored the danger in favor of the familiarity of filling in for the job those last few weeks, but he had known something was wrong. He had immediately been moved to the night shift—a position he hadn’t worked in forever—right after mentioning he was going to finally quit after all these years. Two week notice. Two weeks of night shift. One to get the feel of things again,  _ he  _ had said. The next to record another set of tapes. This time, for future night guard trainees, since Scott wouldn’t be around much longer.

To anyone else, it would make sense. The words were logical. It would be endearing, even, to see that his services were still needed.

To Scott, it was a bluntly said threat.  _ He  _ had said it with such confidence— _he wouldn’t be around much longer_ — and had promptly put him in a job where he would be alone in the building for 6 hours a night. Scott had overlooked the danger of the animatronics because they could be predictable. No—Scott had been worried about  _him_.

It was evident in the tapes, too. Sure, he had always been one to ramble a bit, but it sounded like he was genuinely having trouble forming a coherent sentence here. The “um’s” and “uh’s” were more prevalent than actual words. It sounded like he was looking over his shoulder between every phrase.

He had been.

He had also been a little more free with his words than a smart worker would’ve been. He had said things he hoped would cause any new hire under  _ his  _ thumb to rethink their decision. 

Like the kid sitting in the office right now.

The guard’s eyebrows scrunched at his mention of ‘The Bite of 87’.

The pencil dropped from their hands as the recording talked about the animatronics not just wandering around the building, but trying to get in the office, coming for the night guard.

And what would happen if they grabbed them.

_ “-probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Now that wouldn’t be so bad-“ _

By now the newbie guard had abandoned their books and was frantically tapping at the cameras. 

_ “-could imagine how having your face forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort. And death. The only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again-“ _

Scott couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t watch this kid go through what he had, and he couldn’t listen to himself narrate his own death. He had to get out of this cramped, stuffy excuse for a security office, even if the alternative was being open to the animatronics that would be prowling tonight. 

The back office had been locked, but that wasn’t exactly a problem for him anymore. After a little hesitation he passed through the door easily, and set eyes on the room before him. Much like the security office, it looked quite a bit different than he recalled it. The same mahogany desk and chair sat in their usual spot, but the room had been wiped of the details he remembered. There were no family portraits. No blueprints laid out. Items unfamiliar to him littered the room instead. Nothing left to remind Scott of  _him_. 

Was _he_ gone ?

Despite coming here to avoid both his own death and the tapes discussing it, Scott found his mind drifting back to just that. He thought about the panic as they closed in. The darkness. The oversized hands that were much stronger than they had any right to be. He thought about  _him_. _His_ perfect excuses,  _ his  _ lies that Scott had been so ready to believe. He should never have second-guessed himself.

As he reflected on familiar regretful thoughts, Scott recognized the growing anger in his chest as something new. He was upset not only with himself, but  furious  at the man that had organized everything. 

After what he had seen?

He should’ve known he couldn’t trust William Afton.


	4. Lasting Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike meets friends both old and new, engages in some stale conversation, gets accused of doing drugs, and gives himself false hope. An overall busy evening.

Mike spent the evening before his shift hanging out with Honey and dwelling on his first trip into Freddy’s. The interview had brought up stuff he’d rather not think about, and the whispers from the workers had only cemented his unease.

He told himself there was nothing to worry about.

This was a normal job at your everyday children’s restaurant. He wouldn’t even have to deal with children! He would sit in an office and wait around for a couple of hours. That’s all it was. 

...He wasn’t convinced. Maybe it was the wariness of the waitress he met. Maybe it was the absolute lack of concern Mr. Schaeffer had shown, or the way he had ushered Mike out of the office as soon as the papers were signed (he still couldn’t get over how many papers there were. The pen he used had practically run out of ink).

Or maybe it was the way Mike’s heart rate had doubled as soon as he set eyes upon the animatronic characters on stage. How their faces had resembled the masks of his old friends. How his gaze had locked on their teeth rather than their eyes. They hadn’t been moving at the time—or even been on at all—but Mike could easily imagine those gaping robotic jaws snapping shut like a steel trap.

He could imagine the child’s scream that would follow.

And the panic from the crowd, and the police showing up, and the red down his arms, and his father whipping around to face him when he had found out what happened—the look in his eyes...like a rabid animal coming after him-

_Coming after him-!_

He was _coming after him-!_

Mike was snatched from his thoughts by Honey nosing her way into his lap. It took him a moment to realize that he had...spiraled. By the time he was starting to breathe normally again, Honey had her entire upper body against his chest. He dug a hand into her soft fur, and they sat there like that for a while.

...Good Girl.

Mike eventually invited the dog up into the chair with him, leaned back, and fell into a comfortable sleep.

...Or at least, until there came a knock at his apartment door.

Mike peeked an eye open and groaned. He didn’t know of anybody that would come knocking at his door this late, unless he hadn’t paid something or Mr. Schaeffer had found out something he hadn’t liked. No matter who was on the other side, it couldn’t be good.

Another knock.

Ugh, fine. Maybe if he pretended to be sick they’d go away faster. He pushed himself out of his seat and readied a hearty cough, only to find his neighbor, Katie, on his doorstep.

Katie was...nice, he supposed. They weren’t incredibly close, but Katie was polite and greeted him whenever she saw him. Mike did likewise. Or tried to. He didn’t really come out of his apartment often. He appreciated that Katie was making an effort to socialize with him, though. Their talks were nice. She would share the daily drama of her waitress-ing, and Mike would lament whatever recent job of his had gone up in flames. Which was why Katie had decided to mention that there was a nighttime security position open where she worked.

He hadn’t known it was Freddy’s at the time. It had certainly been a surprise.

But he had gotten the job, and she was here now, and Mike had to act presentable. Or human, at least.

“Katie! Hi, uh...how are you?”

“Good, thanks!”

She smiled expectantly.

Mike stood there dumbly.

“So?”, she finally asked. Mike thought he was losing his mind.

“So?...”

“Did you get the job?” Huh. Mike hadn’t realized she was that invested. It honestly felt like the job mention had been a well-meaning throwaway comment.

“Uh...yeah, actually. Yeah, I did.”

“Mike, that’s great! I’m so happy for you.” Katie quickly changed gears. “So...doesn’t your shift start soon?”

Oh, shoot. Mike hadn’t even been thinking of that. He quickly peeked back in the hallway to check the time, only to see that Katie was very much correct.

“Crap. Yeah. I’ve gotta get ready—thanks for the warning-“

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted me to drive you over there,” Katie interjected plainly.

Mike practically short-circuited. What? Why? 

“I kind of forgot something at the pizzeria the other day, so it’s no hassle. I had to watch my niece today-“

Ah, so that’s why he hadn’t seen her working.

“Okay,” he agreed just for the sake of agreeing. “But how do I get back when my shift’s over?”

Katie frowned for a moment—she evidently hadn’t thought that far ahead—but it didn’t seem to phase her. “I can wake up early, or something. I come in pretty close to opening anyways.”

Alright, cool. Good to see he wouldn’t be stranded or stuck with some stranger.

“If not, Chris can drive you back.”

...Or not.

————

The drive to Freddy’s had been pretty uneventful. Honey had been content to watch Mike and Katie from the backseat. The two swapped stories, Mike poked for details about his shift (Katie hadn’t known much), and then spent the rest of the ride trying not to ask about the workers’ weird behavior earlier.

Not that it bothered him. Why would he be bothered about something like that? It didn’t bother him.

Because he was Mike Schmidt now, not Mike Afton. He hadn’t recognized any of the employees, so they couldn’t have recognized him, right?

He sure hoped not.

Freddy’s was...something else at night. It wasn’t exactly scary, but without all the lights on, it stood as a looming monument in the otherwise empty lot. The inside was much the same. The dimly lit dining room was a shadow of what Mike assumed it was during the day. Without the sounds or lights or other activity, Freddy’s was...eerie. 

At least Honey was here with him. 

And Katie.

...and some guy coming around the corner?

He looked about Mike’s age, and maybe even his height, but Mike didn’t really want to share too many similarities between someone who looked so much like a surfer dude. His blond-ish hair was brushed up, but it was so short that any style was useless. He also sported the usual purple Freddy’s uniform and a bottle of cleaner in each hand.

Ah, a janitor. So the dude wasn’t some hooligan breaking in. When he set eyes on the two walking in, he was quick to greet them. Or one of them.

“Katie! What’s up! Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” He paused a moment, looking at Mike. “Didn’t know you were into that kinda guy.”

‘ _That kinda guy_ ’? What in the world-

Katie was quick to amend introductions. “Hey there! Sorry to barge in, I just left something in the back. Mike, this is Chris, our janitor. He’ll be working before your shift and should help you open up in the morning. Chris, this is Mike. He’s gonna be trying out the night shift. He’s also a friend of mine; not my boyfriend.”

She said the last sentence pointedly, apparently aiming at ‘Chris’, but her pleasant smile remained the same. Everybody was quiet for a moment before she continued.

“Oh, and this is Honey!” She pointed to the dog in question. “I’m gonna go on and get my stuff, you two make friends. See you in the morning, Mike!”

And she was gone. Oh boy.

Lucky for him, Chris was eager to talk in her absence, unlike what Mike had thought with his first impression. He was also blind to the man’s hesitance, or was choosing to ignore it. Putting down his bottles, the janitor led Mike and Honey down the hall.

“I’m done cleaning for the night, so all I’ve gotta do is introduce you to your office. This is where you’re gonna be working for the next six or so hours.” Chris gestured through the doorway.

It was...cozy, he supposed. Shaped weird. There were two ways into the office (suspiciously lacking doors) with the world’s most cluttered desk crammed between them. Among the items—ignoring the papers and trash—were a rotary phone, a fan, and a little stack of camera monitors. A row of lockers sat in the back of the room. 

Huh. “Cute,” was all he could say.

“Yup. Listen, I know you probably do drugs or whatever, but just don’t bring that stuff in here, alright?”

...What?

“I don’t do drugs,” Mike was quick to interject out of sheer shock. Chris continued regardless.

“Yeah, you do. You night guard people are always crazy,” Chris insisted nonchalantly. “Anyways, please don’t make a mess in here. I don’t wanna have to sweep again, and the Bossman blames me whenever you guys bring crap like that in.”

Mike was so confused—and offended, frankly—that he completely missed Mr. Schaeffer’s apparent nickname. Was this guy losing it?

“Dude,” he spoke more firmly this time. “I said I don’t do drugs.”

“Uh-huh. Tell me that again when you’re all high when I come back after your shift. Oh, that’s another thing. Your shift ends at six, I’ll be coming to unlock the doors and do another round a little after. You’re not allowed to leave until we switch out; capiche?”

Mike wasn’t about to let it drop, but he could see this guy wasn’t going to listen. 

“Fine.”

“Cool. There’s a recording on the office phone that I’m supposed to tell you about, so I guess listen to that? See ya.”

After putting away his supplies and locking the door, Chris left with little fanfare.

Mike was alone in the darkened restaurant.

Except for Honey.

And the animatronics that stood stiff on stage.

...Creepy.

Mike hadn’t really allowed himself a good look at the characters earlier. Hadn’t wanted to. He remembered them well enough from visiting the diner as a kid, even if they hadn’t formally been in service at the time. Mike hadn’t spared a single thought over their appearance then, but now, in the dark, the animatronics looked...wrong. The joints were all separated, their figures too tall, and their jaws had way too many teeth for his liking.

...Mike had to get over this eventually.

They were just cutesy characters for kids, he told himself. They sang songs, and joked with each other, and told stories _for kids_. Just a bunny and a chicken that had a teddy bear for a leader. Oh, and Foxy. Despite all the time that had passed, Foxy was still his favorite. Not that he would admit it.

With a little personal coaxing, Mike was able to see the animatronic characters for what they were: just characters. He found himself recalling more fond memories from his childhood, of when he would watch them perform on stage, when there was still a semblance of magic and innocence to it all. Even though it was bittersweet, it made him smile. Remembering the characters he had enjoyed as a kid gave the now-offline characters a warmer light, more rounded edges.

As he walked back into the office with Honey, Mike was content with himself, proud even. He had finally gotten the teeniest bit comfortable with what had plagued him as a needling fear over the years. He hung his jacket over the office chair—man, was it hot in there—and sat down easily. Honey settled in the space below the desk. Mike casually opened up the camera screen, flicking between areas, learning what was what. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He had been worried for nothing.

As if to contradict him, midnight approached.


	5. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott learns the ropes of being a Freddy’s ghost. He also struggles with making eye contact.

After that first week, Scott’s curiosity overcame his fear and he finally dared to venture out into the restaurant. During the day, of course.

He quickly learned a couple of things. One, that he recognized absolutely none of the current workers. From what he could tell, the main bulk of the store’s help consisted of the three waitresses, who traded out kitchen duty with each other, a singular janitor, who only came at opening and closing unless the place was packed, and their never-present, almost-smug boss. 

Scott wasn’t really sure how they held the restaurant together. It seemed to be working for them, though, so he didn’t spend too much time worrying about it. He definitely didn’t breathe a sigh of relief (or do whatever the ghost equivalent was) when there was still no sign of William.

The second thing he had learned—or really, double-checked—was that he was, indeed, a ghost. He had gotten used to the little things: his own apparent lack of color, the fact that his tie did not like to obey gravity, the ease with which he moved...or uh, floated. He couldn’t be heard or seen by anyone in the restaurant (that, or everybody was very, very good at ignoring him), and while he could certainly touch stuff, moving it was another story. Oh, and he was pretty sure he was somehow tied to the phone in the office. Scott had some more experimenting to do with that one.

All of these things were okay. Acceptable. Fine and dandy. 

Unlike his most recent discovery, which he had finally admitted to himself after days of pretending everything was fine.

The first thing he noticed—though he hadn’t really thought about it at the time—was that the animatronics looked...weird, he supposed? Like they were enclosed in shadow, even when the janitor had come in and the stage lights were turned on. It was his first time seeing the janitor, so he had quickly become more invested in the man’s activity than the stationary-but-still-terrifying animatronics. Maybe if he didn’t focus on them it would be okay.

Instead, he had followed the janitor (who he learned was named Chris after a peek at his name tag) around as he swept. Scott liked watching Chris. Mostly because he was so...human? He had a tendency to talk to himself and hum parts of songs throughout his shift. Sometimes he even threw in a little ‘guitar’ solo with his broom. It was so stupid, not to mention unprofessional.

But the only other person Scott had seen was a teenager terrified for their life. This was an alternative he was happy to have.

He found himself equally fond of the waitresses. The twins, Alyssa and Jo, could only be told apart because they wore their hair differently. Katie was easy to identify because she looked nothing like them; tall, blond, and pale as all get out. The three seemed to get along fine, and Scott liked to listen to them joke and gossip with each other. It gave him a little bit of warmth.

Scott got used to their morning schedule after a while. Regardless of whether or not a night guard had been present the night before, the janitor would show up around six to unlock the front doors. He would do a once-over of the restaurant. After that—Scott didn’t know how much time would pass. An hour? Two?—the waitresses would start to trickle in to ready the kitchen. Slowly but surely, the restaurant would gain life.

On that first morning out in the dining room, Scott had gotten comfortable. It was closer to opening time. Light flooded through the few windows the restaurant had. The workers had gone to their various places; the janitor was putting up his supplies in the closet, about to leave, and the waitresses were busy in the kitchen.

Even though he was effectively alone in the dining room with the animatronics, Scott wasn’t really bothered. Or at least, not bothered enough to flee back to the office. Baby steps, small victories, all that stuff.

In the late morning light, the animatronics almost looked...nice. Their vacant stares lacked any of the malice Scott was afraid of. The shadows that surrounded them were still present, but they were easy to see past. Scott eyed the stage, taking in the cutesy characters.

And then Bonnie shifted his gaze to look directly at him.

Directly at him. Scott looked behind him to see if the rabbit’s programming had noticed one of the workers. No one was there. No one except him.

...Bonnie could see him?

They maintained eye contact for longer than Scott liked. Neither wavered. His fear eventually got the better of him though, and he made a beeline to the office. 

That was the second thing he had noticed.

There had been a night guard that night. Scott was almost glad for the peace and quiet after the kids had left. All the activity had been exciting, but everything was too loud. As midnight neared, he made his way to the office for the night. 

The phone rang on time, as usual.

Scott watched the night guard change through the cameras. He tried to tune out the recording as best he could.

Scott waited for the night to really begin. In the meantime, the guard’s panic grew as they listened to the phone.

The animatronics started moving shortly after the recording shut off. Scott noticed that the guard used the lights too much. An easy mistake. Hopefully it wouldn’t cost them on night one.

They started coming closer around three. The guard’s heavy use of the lights paid off; Bonnie was in the doorway.

Even though he technically wasn’t the one sitting in the office, Scott was frozen by the sight of the rabbit. The animatronic locked eager eyes on the guard...

...then turned his gaze up to meet Scott’s.

The security door slammed between them.

Scott...didn’t know what to think. The animatronic hadn’t tried to grab at him, had just...watched him. Scott didn’t like that. He kept his eyes on Bonnie as the rabbit moved to peek through the window.

This time, the animatronic paid the night guard no attention. His gaze was fixed solely on Scott, almost curiously. 

The milky silhouette behind Bonnie stared as well.

Scott watched helplessly.

The rabbit eventually retreated back into the darkness of the pizzeria. The rest of the night lasted far too long. Every animatronic acted similarly to Bonnie. Chica had lingered in the window when she saw him. Scott had caught a glimpse of something white hovering around Foxy when the guard opened the Cove camera.

Then six came, and the animatronics had gone back to their stages. Chris opened the door. The guard ran out.

...the silhouettes had looked like him.

They had also looked angry. And tired.

Scott was not alone. Neither were the animatronics. The animatronics that could see him.

Scott had some thinking to do.


	6. The Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike stays in the middle ground of overthinking too much and not questioning his job enough, lets adrenaline take over for far too long, and loves his dog too much to disappoint her.

Mike only knew the clock had struck midnight because the phone had gone off. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the alarm clock in the office; sue him. Honey reared her head up from under the desk at the new sound, but laid back down as soon as the ringing stopped and a recording took its place. Huh. That was a weird system.

 _"Hello, hello? Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night.”_ That sounded nice. At least the phone man didn’t gossip about him or think he was crazy. _“Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine! So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?”_

Okay.

The recording proceeded to go into what they called an ‘introductory greeting’. Instead, Mike was read out a very suspicious sounding legal statement. Should he be worried? Guess it was too late to back out now—Chris had locked the doors, after all—even if “damage and death” occurring was so common they had to write out stuff for it.

Mike told himself they were just covering their bases.

 _“So, just be aware, the characters do tend to...wander a bit. They’re left in some kind of ‘free roaming mode’ at night. Something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long?”_ Mike didn’t know quite enough about robotics to question that. _“They used to be allowed to walk around during the day too. But then there was ‘The Bite of '87’.”_ What. _“Yeah. It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?”_

Mike froze in his chair as his thoughts sped up. ‘The Bite of ‘87’—they had named it? People still talked about it? His brother’s death had been reduced to-

‘’87’

-‘the human body can live’-

Oh.

...That had happened _twice_? Mike couldn’t help but wonder about the poor sod that had gone through that and lived. He only half-listened as the recording continued on, more focused on recollecting his composure. 

_“Now, concerning your safety: the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won't recognize you as a person. They'll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on.”_

Oh. Weird. Worrying, even, but he had dealt with worse things at worse jobs. He could work with that.

_“Since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit.”_

That he could not work with.

_“So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. The only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again—“_

Okay, nope, nope, he could not listen to that. Did this phone guy know when to shut up? Now he was going to freaking die and the last thing he heard would be the messenger of death via telephone.

...He wasn’t actually going to die, though, right?

Sure, his heart rate was getting to dangerous speeds and his thoughts were even faster, but there was still the chance that this was all a big misunderstanding. Or a mistake. Or even a prank! There was no way his childhood fears could be all but confirmed in one night.

...Right?

Mike flipped up the camera screen. He was going to check on the animatronics, and they were all going to be there, because they were robots on a stage that sang recorded songs and had matching dance moves and did not have murderous intent.

Even in the dim light, he could see all three silhouettes on stage. He almost breathed a sigh of relief.

If not for the fact that every character’s head was turned squarely towards the camera.

Oh God, he was actually going to die. This sucked so hard.

_“But hey, first day should be a breeze! I'll chat with you tomorrow. Check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."_

The recording turned off with a click.

* * *

Mike was panicking. That normally would’ve been fine. He could’ve grappled Honey for however long he needed to, pretended the issues wracking his body weren’t real, and just waited it out.

Honey, however, was proving to be a consistent problem.

Right after the recording had shut off, the dog had noticed Mike’s plight and had started working. She kept trying to get on him and Mike kept having to shove her back so he could reach lights and use the cameras and she _kept coming back_. Because that was what she was supposed to do when he pushed her away. Because she was a good girl.

Mike had had enough of it. He had _maybe even barely possibly_ calmed down enough for the dog to give up when he noticed empty space on the stage.

Bonnie was gone. Of course Bonnie was gone. He used one hand to keep Honey at bay and the other to tap through cameras frantically. Bonnie had to be in here somewhere. Hopefully on the other end of the building, far, far away from him.

Not in the dining room.

Kitchen camera didn’t work (for some reason?).

Not in Pirate’s Cove, of course.

Not in the backstage—

 _Holy crap Bonnie was backstage_. Just standing there among the robotic parts and shells and _oh wow that was horrifying_. He did not want that anywhere near him. The darkened silhouette, the eyes aimed straight at him...Mike immediately decided that he was not a fan.

...And Honey immediately decided that it was time to work. Mike’s attention had been focused on the camera and the hand keeping her away had stilled. With his mind elsewhere, the full-grown retriever pulled the entirety of her weight into his lap and clambered over him.

He tried to let her down. She responded by digging in tighter.

Mike couldn’t work—survive?—like this. Could barely breathe with her smothering him, in fact. The warmth was nice, but he had more pressing matters at hand. Namely, Bugs Bunny and his ill-intending antics. Mike had no choice but to put the dog over his shoulder like a baby and let her sit that way as he went back to the screen. Hey, it seemed to work. Honey wasn’t complaining and he could see the cameras and still (kind of?) maneuver the office chair around. No harm, no foul, he supposed.

Speaking of harm.

Bonnie’s face was now practically pressed against the camera like a child against a store window...but much, much creepier. The eyes were completely dark, save for the two pinpricks of white that bored straight into Mike’s soul. Definitely creepy.

A rush of static filled the screen. Mike hit his hand against it in a desperate attempt to fix it before anything decided to make good use of his blindness. The static eventually cleared of its own volition, just in time for Bonnie to disappear.

Oh boy.

Mike did not believe that the animatronics were anything more than servos and metal bits that twisted in memorized patterns when told to do so.

The animatronic characters were simply animatronic characters, albeit (apparently?) glitchy in a way that was not fun for him at all.

But if Mike was more prone to second-guessing himself-

...the animatronic was totally screwing with him.

He checked the dining room. No dice.

The kitchen camera was not magically repaired, though there was a weird clanging sound that made him hesitate. Best not dwell on that.

Another one of Freddy’s fabulous friends had exited stage left. Chica was notably absent.

Pirate Cove seemed the same as before.

Both hallways were empty.

Mike cycled and cycled and cycled through the cameras, getting more hurried the longer he couldn’t find the rabbit. Sure, he didn’t want to believe the phone dude at face value and subscribe to whatever nonsense was happening, but he wasn’t too keen on risking it, either. Mike didn’t need to be on the business end (or inside) of a Freddy’s suit to know it was dangerous.

He shifted Honey’s weight on his shoulder (man, he really had to do something about her). Bonnie had all but vanished. If he wasn’t visible on the cameras, where was he?

He had to think, and fast. Panicking wouldn’t do him any good, especially with his mutt on duty and willing to smother him. Deep breaths.

Mike fanned himself with his hand as he thought, partially as an excuse to fidget and mostly because the desk fan did jack squat. Even without the supposed murder-bots coming after him, the security office was hell incarnate just from the heat. Sure, the building seemed to be on some sort of power meter now, but one would think that with ventilation, a desk fan, and not one but two doorways for airflow, the office would be a bit more bearable—

The doorways.

The doorways that lacked camera supervision and had specially labeled buttons to close the door with if— _when_ —something got near.

Mike turned the light on to his left and was greeted with seven feet of purple bunny leering down at him.

And then leering slightly past him. The thing’s gaze stayed there.

Mike froze. Honey was oblivious.

He did not know what the animatronic usually did—did not want to know—when he came to the office, but apparently finding a dog was not part of his plans. Mike had no intention of learning what the bunny’s philosophy on discovering dog-kind was. He shut the door (a very loud, very fast, full-fledged security door?...) between them before he could do anything.

He tapped the light again. Bonnie’s shadow remained.

Light off. On again. He was still there.

Mike had played enough fast-paced, low-poly shooter games to know what was going on. The dancing children’s entertainment robot outside the door was camping him.

Mike couldn’t believe it. He was going to die. Really and truly. He didn’t know what happened when the power ran down—hadn’t really paid it much attention with the murder-bots to worry about—but he wasn’t keen on finding out. Bonnie certainly was not making the power meter go up.

...It wasn’t like Mike could shoo him off.

Light on again. Oh thank the Lord, he was gone. Good riddance.

Okay. 3:48 AM. 54%. He could do this. Mike switched shoulders with Honey and went back to work.

He had a long night ahead of him.

* * *

Mike had hated school. He had hated his 6 AM alarm for it even more.

But when a chime sounded the end to a night full of a bird that pressed her face against the window, a bunny that hid in the supply closet, and weird hums from down the hall? Mike practically cried tears of pure unadulterated joy when his shift ended. He nearly ran out into the dining room when he heard the jingle of keys unlocking the front door.

“Chris! You would not believe the crazy—“

“Whoa, whoa! Dude. If you’re gonna do weird stuff back there, don’t let me know about it. I don’t wanna be responsible for your shenanigans,” Chris had started talking before he even shut the door back. Huh. He was really dedicated to the whole ‘you do drugs’ bit of his.

Mike’s annoyance—he did not do drugs, for the last time—faltered in time for a new realization. _Chris didn’t know_. This stupidly blunt, oblivious janitor came after closing and before opening and truly did not know about the haunts that played in between.

Suddenly all the delusional night guards Chris went on about made perfect sense. Frightened and jittery and completely out of it—symptoms of a man drugged out of his mind, or a man that had spent the past six hours fighting for his life?

Chris, bless his soul, did not catch Mike’s crisis. “...Man, you’re totally spacing out on me. I really need you to stop tripping acid because I have no idea what to do with your dog if you’re passed out on the floor.”

How was he supposed to respond to that?

Mike ignored his queasiness and palpable annoyance to conjure up something passable.

“No...no. I’m good.” His hands were visibly shaking. He dug one into Honey’s back and shoved the other in his pocket. “...or, I will be good.”

Chris had already passed him and was making his way to the supply closet.

“Whatever you say, man. See you later.”

Mike watched him weave through the dining tables, then carefully allowed himself to look towards the stage. Each character was in their spot, exactly as they had been before his shift. All three stared blankly ahead. They were inanimate machines, but the air of innocence—as if nothing had ever happened—made him feel very, very spiteful. He turned on his heel quickly and made to walk out the door with Honey.

The parking lot was empty, save for a remarkably sad-looking car that could only be Chris’s.

“Right. I’ll just, ah, wait for my ride.” 


End file.
